


Eddie Kaspbrak Runs

by missmermaiden



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: ADHD, Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Character Development, Character Study, Child Abuse, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Bickering, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Anxiety, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Panic Attacks, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, High School, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, Panic Attacks, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sonia Kaspbrak Being Terrible, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmermaiden/pseuds/missmermaiden
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak loves to run. He dreams of running, perhaps even running away. He has plenty to run from. But he has nowhere, nothing to run to. A little oversight brings his old best friend, Richie Tozier, back into his life. As the boys are paired up on a school project together, they end up learning more about themselves than their project topic. And maybe, just maybe, this is enough to give Eddie something to run to.Set in 1991, in a universe where the Losers Club killed Pennywise during their first Neibolt battle in 1989 and disbanded shortly afterwards, this story follows the life of a now 16 year old Eddie Kaspbrak. As the end of his tenth grade year approaches, Eddie's relationships with his abusive mother and his long-lost friends change forever as he discovers his feelings for one of the latter.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 17
Kudos: 29





	1. Running Away

Eddie Kaspbrak is running away. 

Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t know what he’s running to. He’s thought about running away, but he’s never thought about what he is running to. He was too busy thinking about what he is running from. Eddie Kaspbrak knows what he’s running from. 

The seams of Eddie’s backpack snap apart one by one as he yanks it out of his closet. The poor thing has been through so much, much more than a flimsy secondhand backpack can take. Its purpose, as stated by Eddie’s mother, Sonia Kaspbrak, is for carrying Eddie’s school supplies, along with any additional medications that couldn’t fit in his fanny pack. The fanny pack that Eddie is currently tearing off his waist, and throwing at the wall. 

When Sonia picked the backpack up from the local Goodwill, she wasn’t considering its ability to be stuffed with clothes, have those same clothes yanked out and thrown on the bedroom floor, repeat. 

She wasn’t looking through the backpack selection thinking about which one would be the best at holding a pillow, a blanket, a flashlight or two, and Frankie the sea otter. 

If Eddie was given an allowance, he would go backpack shopping with that criteria in mind. But since Eddie isn’t given an allowance, this shabby bag would have to do. 

The backpack’s thread is Eddie’s timer. A countdown timer. Eddie needs that backpack. Without it, his means of toting necessities are nonexistent. His chance of survival would be null, if his lack of funds hadn’t already solidified that. As it slips out of its stitching, Eddie’s clock ticks down, his opportunity to run away slipping further out of his grasp. 

Eddie sees two more pieces of stitching fall apart, and his heart begins to race. Two more seconds, minutes, days, weeks, whatever, have ticked off his clock. He envelopes a bunch of hanging clothes into a bear hug, then yanks them off their hangers. Heavy grunts scratch his throat as he stuffs the articles into the backpack, trying his best not to tear it. This proves to be a thankless cause. Three more stitches come undone. Tick, tick, tick. 

Drawers are flung open one by one as Eddie goes through each and every one, searching for necessities. Into the backpack go a flashlight, a handful of pharmacy counter mints, his favorite childhood fairytale anthology, and some assorted photos he doesn’t feel are worth looking through before packing. If he kept them, they must be important. And he knows that a photo of his dad, Frank Kaspbrak, is buried somewhere in that pile. 

This reminds him to grab Frankie the sea otter, who sits gracefully atop Eddie’s perfectly made bed. Frankie is a rather large stuffed animal, large enough to force Eddie to remove some clothes from the backpack for his accommodation. Perhaps leaving him behind would be the logical option. But feelings and memories always seem to triumph over Eddie’s logic. 

This particular memory is of Eddie’s fifth birthday, when he was gifted the precious plush by his father. His second most vivid memory of Frank Kaspbrak’s existence. Most of Eddie’s memories of his father are hazy; they barely feel real. At this point, who knows if they even are. Even his most vivid memory is quite blurry, at least in the literal sense. 

The thick, heavy tears blurred his vision as he squeezed his father’s hand by his hospital bed. The items in the room were nothing more than shapeless blobs that throbbed and changed shape with each coming tear. 

Five year old Eddie didn’t understand why he was crying. Well, he understood why. But he couldn’t understand the reason. After all, he didn’t know why his mother wailed and bawled heavily enough to make her whole body tremble. 

Or why his father struggled to merely lift his hand up to hold Eddie’s. 

Or why his voice cracked and quivered as he let go of Eddie’s hand and whispered goodbye. 

Or why multiple nurses had to wrangle his mother out of the room as she reached for her husband and shouted his name. 

So it was obvious why little Eddie Kaspbrak, whose days started with hugs and kisses and worries ended at scraping his knees on the sidewalk, was crying. 

Even he knew that. 

What wasn’t obvious, though, was why his parents, his strong father and sweet mother, were acting the way they were. Therefore, he didn’t know the true reason why he was crying. And he didn’t know the reason for months, as he waited by the door for his father to come home. Or at least for his mother to stand up from the couch. 

Until finally, Sonia Kaspbrak stood up and walked over to her son. He had to stand up, as she struggled to get her heavyset body down to his level. In a gruff voice full of monotony, all she had to whisper was one sentence:

“Daddy’s never coming back, he’s...” a brief hesitation, “...gone.”

That was all it took for Eddie to collapse into her stout arms, gripping her shirt until his knuckles turned white. And for many years, he never really let go. 

Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t remember much of his mother before that fateful day either. But he does know that she changed. He doesn’t know how big the change was; for all he knows it could be minimal. Maybe she’d be the same way if his father was still here. Eddie knows there was a shift though. After all, he doesn’t remember going to the pharmacy so often before. Or even going to the pharmacy at all. 

This is when Eddie’s memories begin to gain vividity. When his mother clipped a fanny pack around his waist, then slipped one orange prescription bottle inside. When one became two, two became three, three became six, and so on. When an inhaler was added to the pack, and suddenly became akin to an oxygen tank for a deep sea diver. 

After all, Eddie needed it. He needed everything in that fanny pack. They were his swords and shields in the war against germs. Nasty, vicious germs which preyed on little boys as sickly as Eddie. Which could take Eddie away from his mom in a heartbeat, leaving her all alone. And he didn’t want that, now, did he? Eddie did not. 

Did being the key word here. 

Eddie swings the backpack over his shoulders and shuffles over to his window. He pushes the heavy window up, looking down at the freshly cut grass below. The height of his bedroom may make the jump feasible, but not unalarming. 

The sixteen year old had made multiple runaway attempts since he was thirteen. And for the past two years, each and every single one of those escapes have been via the front door. Eddie may not be the brightest bulb in the shed, but he isn’t stupid. He’d never run away when his mother was home. 

Then again, he’d never been grounded for a month before. Sonia demanded that Eddie begin a thrice-daily dose of a brand new medicine, administered via syringe. Eddie hates needles. He’d long overcome his fear of them; his constant doctor’s office visits left him no choice. But he’d still rather bite his own arm off before injecting himself three times a day. And he made sure his mother knew that. 

The voice of his mother rings in his ear, “Edward Kaspbrak, as long as you live in this house, you will be taking these medications. I will not let you infect yourself with your own childish naivete.”

Then, the voice of Greta Bowie from the pharmacy, “The medication, they’re placebos. Placebo means bullshit.”

Each voice screams in either one of Eddie’s ears, growing louder and louder with each passing second. The voices grow loud enough to summon strength, each one becoming a pair of hands, which push Eddie out of the window and onto the grass. 

Eddie Kaspbrak is running away. 

Literally. 

Eddie Kaspbrak runs. 

Coach Brantley, who never has anything nice to say to anyone, would demand that the entire gym class run their laps “like Kaspbrak,” before returning to his daily sudoku. One day, he even told Eddie he “ought to try out for track.” Eddie had to decline; the active volcano that is his mom would erupt at the suggestion. Coach Brantley was disappointed, but Eddie was devastated. 

He too thought he “ought to try out for track.” 

Eddie’s the smallest, the shortest, the weakest. He’s a whole lot of “ests,” and each one does nothing but reinforce his powerless status. Except for one: the fastest. That “est” allows him to regain the power the other “ests” take away. 

Eddie Kaspbrak, the fastest, is running away. 

But stamina does being the fastest not equate. So, Eddie stops at the quarry, sprawling on a large rock. He slips off his backpack and places it beside him, stretching his limbs out with a groan. 

For the first time since he began running, Eddie takes a good look at the sky. He gasps at the sight. The sun sets behind the cliff, the bright orange orb of light casting over the emerald pine trees. The sky is a swirl of pink and orange, a watercolor of a sky. It reminds Eddie of the sherbert ice cream at the Derry Summer Fair. Oh, how Eddie yearned to taste that gorgeous, vivid sherbert. But that bright food coloring would give him cancer, his mother told him.

Now, Eddie could eat as much of it as he wants. After all, he’s the fastest. He ran away. 

Eddie shifts around on the rock, trying to make himself comfortable. A slab of rough granite is not exactly the most pleasant place to sit. But this is far from Eddie’s largest dilemma at the moment. His bottom isn’t as sore as his stomach. Eddie is starving. All he ate that day was a bowl of plain oatmeal, cooked by Eddie himself with his mother’s eagle eye as a sous chef. 

He sighs, flopping his head back as his stomach growls. But he darts his head forward when he discovers that this would only force him to stare at the sherbert sky. Then, Eddie remembers the mints he haphazardly tossed in his backpack at the last second. Not the most filling dinner, but it would have to do. 

Eddie slumps forward and pulls the zipper of his backpack, groaning upon noticing that the mints are not at the top of the load. They must have sunken down as he ran. Which means that he has to do a little buried treasure digging in order to find them. He yanks shirt after shirt, wincing as he spots a stitch come undone. Tick. 

Then, he pulls out a scattered pile of photos. Before he can put them aside, Eddie catches a glimpse at them. A fatal mistake indeed. 

Underneath that photo of his father, Eddie finds two photostrips of himself with his friends. The only friends Eddie ever had. 

The Losers Club, they called themselves. A little reclamation of the taunts flung at them by bullies. Pretty fitting, considering that their social status as “losers” brought them together. 

Bill Denbrough, the stuttering mess. 

Mike Hanlon, the dark-skinned farm boy. 

Ben Hanscom, the fat new kid. 

Stanley Uris, the Jewish neat freak. 

Beverly Marsh, the slutty chainsmoker. 

Richie Tozier, the four-eyed geek. 

And of course, Eddie Kaspbrak. The short, fanny pack-toting germaphobe. 

But that’s not what they were in the Losers Club. Eddie looks at the first photostrip, where they are all squished in the tiny arcade photo booth, sporting grins from ear to ear. 

Bill Denbrough, the courageous leader. 

Mike Hanlon, the empathetic intellectual. 

Ben Hanscom, the kindhearted architect. 

Beverly Marsh, the strong fighter. 

Stanley Uris, the witty philosopher. 

Richie Tozier, the outspoken comic relief. 

Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t exactly know what he was in the Losers Club. But these six kids liked him. So he must have been something. He sure felt like something. Something other than what he was to everyone else. And that was the best feeling in the whole world. Eddie hasn’t felt that feeling for years. Years since the Losers Club disbanded. Years since It. 

The Losers Club was more than a friend group. The Losers Club was a means to escape the fears and troubles which made them losers.

Even as those fears and troubles followed them, through It. 

It, a monster that fed on their fears and troubles, who primarily took the form of a clown named Pennywise. Who had been killing the children of Derry, Maine for centuries. That’s the extent of knowledge Eddie has about It. And the extent of knowledge Eddie wants. He can’t care less about the whys and the hows, so long as It is dead. 

And It is. Thanks to the Losers Club. 

Killing It had to mean that the Losers Club served its purpose. So the group disbanded, each member going their separate ways. 

Eddie feels his hands begin to tremble, his eyes watering. He quickly glances at the other photostrip. This one only displayed him with one of the members of the Losers Club.

Richie Trashmouth Tozier. 

Three of the four photos prompt an eye roll from Eddie. The first one shows Richie giving bunny ears to an oblivious Eddie. In the second one, Eddie has noticed the bunny ears, and stares at Richie with his mouth agape. The third one encapsulates the banter that followed. 

Richie’s nickname, Trashmouth, was well earned indeed. His favorite topics seemed to be cuss words, sex, his penis, other people’s penises, and claims of intercourse with Eddie’s mom. Eddie seemed to be the main victim of his trashmouth. Eddie hated Richie’s trashmouth.

He tried as hard as he could to hate Richie, too. 

He looks at the final picture in the photostrip. Richie isn’t giving him bunny ears, Eddie isn’t chiding.

Whenever he chose to put a lid on his trashmouth, Richie was the funniest, kindest, most caring boy Eddie had ever met. 

The two boys are hugging and smiling. Eddie has never seen himself smile so widely. 

Eddie blinks, and when his eyes flutter open, a tiny wet droplet rests upon that wide smile. Another one falls onto the lens of Richie’s coke bottle glasses. Eddie shoves the photostrips back into the backpack, wiping his watery eyes with his free hand. He feels a small, smooth item touch his hand. 

Oh yeah, the mints. 

Eddie pulls the mint out of the backpack. He isn’t very hungry anymore, but he could use something refreshing. He tears off the cellophane and stuffs it in his pocket, not wanting to litter. Popping the mint into his mouth, Eddie dives back into his backpack for his fairytale anthology. 

The book was pretty thick and heavy in his backpack. But the petite boy knew that he would need something to cheer him up. And what was more cheerful than cute fairy tales?

Eddie opens the book to the first story, which happens to be Cinderella. Through his chokes and hiccups, he reads the story out loud. 

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young lady named Cinderella. After her dear father died, Cinderella was raised by her evil stepmother. She and her evil stepsisters would force Cinderella to clean, all day and all night.”

Eddie lets out a slight scoff. Cleaning all day and all night couldn’t be all that fun. So why didn’t Cinderella run away? She could’ve easily done so. Just pack her things and run from that evil stepmother. Why didn’t she? 

Eddie traces his fingers along the words printed on that page. 

After her dear father died, Cinderella was raised by her evil stepmother. 

The first illustration in the book showcased a young Cinderella, crying into her hands after her father’s death.

Eddie wonders if the stepmother cried as well. She married Cinderella’s father. She must have loved him. Perhaps even as much as Cinderella loved him. 

A cool breeze flows through the night, sending a shiver up Eddie’s spine. He wants to fish a sweater out of his backpack, but he can’t bring himself to move. Eddie wraps his arms around himself, giving himself a hug. He really wants a hug right about now. 

Maybe the stepmother and Cinderella hugged, mournfully crying into each other’s shoulders. They understood each other, after all. They loved and missed the same man. 

Eddie looks up at the sky. The colors of sherbert ice cream are no more. Now, the sky is pitch black. The color of a dark, lonely room. Or death. His mother told him he would have to take his third syringe when the sky turns pitch black. 

Sure, Cinderella’s stepmother forced her to do things she didn’t want to do, things that she probably hated. But she cared for her and raised her. She wouldn’t make Cinderella do things unless they were for her own good. She loved her. She loved her so much. 

If Cinderella ran away, her stepmother would be all alone. With no one to care for, no one to hug. Cinderella would also be all alone. With no one to care for her, no one to hug her. 

Cinderella would have to be foolish to run away. Foolish and selfish. 

Eddie Kaspbrak runs.

He doesn’t take the time to ensure that all his items are packed in the backpack. He doesn’t even notice the fall of five stitches as he picks it up. 

Eddie Kaspbrak just runs. 

Eddie isn’t the fastest. If he was the fastest, he could give himself an asthma attack. And he doesn’t have his inhaler with him. He just runs fast enough to get himself home quickly. 

All of Eddie’s runaway attempts seem to end in this fashion. With Eddie running back the other way, tears streaming down his cheeks. After all, Eddie never thought about what he’s running to. And he always seems to forget what he’s running from. 

Eddie can hear his mother’s screeches the second he steps on the porch. His heart shatters, thickening his tears. He raises a trembling fist to the door and knocks. 

The front door swings open and Eddie is greeted by thicker tears and shakier arms. 

“Eddie-Bear!” Sonia shrieks, pulling Eddie into her big arms. 

Eddie buries his face in his mom’s chest, taking in her scent of rubbing alcohol and Lysol. Oh, how sweet are those smells to Eddie. Despite the nausea they give him. 

“Oh Eddie, my Baby, where were you? What happened? Are you hurt?” Sonia sobs, squeezing Eddie. 

Eddie wheezes out, “I...umm...I was mad that you grounded me, so I went on a walk to clear my head. It was stupid, I’m sorry.”

Oh, it was stupid alright. And Eddie is extremely sorry. He deserves to be grounded for a month. 

And even that is merciful.

“You worried your poor mommy, Sweetie Pie. I was looking everywhere for you, I thought I lost you forever!”

Eddie hiccups, “I’m sorry Mommy, I’m so sorry…” He coughs harshly into her chest. 

“Oh Eddie, just listen to that cough! Did you run at all outside? You know that makes you sick! You always get sick after running and being outside! You must feel so ill right now, poor Baby.”

Now that Eddie thinks about it, he does feel a bit of a headache coming on. His throat is feeling quite scratchy. And breathing has been getting a little harder. 

“I do feel ill, Mommy. Do you have something I can take?”

Of course Mommy has something for Eddie to take. She has quite a few somethings for Eddie to take. 

Six pills and one thrice-daily syringe later, Eddie can feel the illness melting away. He breathes into his inhaler as his mother holds it, letting his breath come back to him bit by bit. He hugs his mother through it all, refusing to let go. 

By now, Eddie can’t care less about the painful prick of the syringe. Nor can he care less about the extension of his grounding to two months rather than one. 

He lets his mom tuck him into bed and kiss him goodnight. As soon as the door closes though, he scrambles out of his bed to unpack his backpack. The items are returned to their hangers and drawers.

There, Eddie thinks, like this never happened. Just how it should be. 

Eddie reaches the bottom of the bag, where only two items remain. The two photostrips, his only memoir of the six only friends he’s ever had.

Eddie frantically swipes the photos and stuffs them in the bottom of a drawer. He harshly rubs his temples, trying his best to forget about the Losers Club. 

Fate works in mysterious ways, Eddie’s mother always told him. Fate brought them to It. Fate disbanded them. Fate caused their paths to never cross again, for almost three whole years. 

Who is Eddie to argue with fate? It’s impossible to run away from fate. So, he goes to bed repeating the same mantra in his head until slumber overtakes him. 

Forget about the Losers Club. Forget about running away. Forget about the Losers Club. Forget about running away. Forget about the Losers Club. Forget about running away. 

Fate certainly does in mysterious ways. But Eddie did not know that fate left his pink polo at the quarry, the pink polo he had owned for three years and labeled with his initials. Nor that fate would bring Richie Tozier to the quarry for a morning swim for his little sister, who would be squealing with delight as she ran to her brother with the prettiest, pinkest shirt in the world. 

Eddie Kaspbrak falls asleep cradling Frankie against his chest, not knowing that perhaps fate wants Eddie Kaspbrak to run away.


	2. Skinny Dipping?

Ever since his last run away attempt, Eddie has spent all his time looking through windows. 

His Saturday and Sunday were spent sitting on his bed, staring out the bedroom window. He could still see his footprints in the plush, muddy grass from his Friday evening jump. He thought watching the cars pass would be his means to alleviate boredom. But in a rare occurrence, the streets were clear of cars that weekend. 

It was perfect. Perfect for running. 

But Eddie promised he would never run again. 

It’s not like he could. His backpack is practically hanging by a thread; he’s surprised it even survived his walk to school that morning. The disheveled backpack now sits against the leg of Eddie’s desk, slumping against the desk. Much like Eddie is doing. 

Eddie gazes out the window of his science classroom. His foot taps against the smooth off-white flooring. He can’t help but ponder how much nicer it would feel to tap his foot against the soft, velvety grass outside. 

Perhaps he could have; the teachers wouldn’t mind if he went outside during lunch, as long as he stayed on campus. But the weather is fairly humid; humidity is bad for Eddie’s health. Besides, it would only add to the heavy temptations weighing on Eddie’s scrawny shoulders. 

Instead, Eddie arrived at his science class five minutes early. He supposes it’s for the best anyways; he’d get brownie points for punctuality. And considering his performance in this class, Eddie needs all the brownie points he can get. 

As he looks out the dirty, fingerprint-covered window, Eddie doesn’t notice the rest of his classmates trudge into the classroom, showing as much enthusiasm as a tenth grader on a Monday can show. 

At least, he doesn’t notice until he hears a voice exclaim, “You do too have my pencil! I saw it at your house while I was fucking your mother! So give it back!”

Eddie swings his head around to catch a glimpse of the voice’s owner. Not that he needs to; he’d recognize that trashmouth anywhere. 

Having Richie Tozier in the same class as him is a very new development, one that was put into place two weeks ago. It’s quite the surreal experience, considering Eddie has never been in the same class as any of the Losers Club members since they disbanded. 

Despite the surrealism of Richie’s presence itself, watching him in action isn’t quite so. After all, he seems to not have changed one bit. 

Eddie watches with exasperated intrigue as Richie stalks the alleged pencil thief to his desk, who is adamant that he is innocent. His eyes roll farther and farther back into his head as Richie delivers a sermon on his intercourse with this boy’s mother. 

If it were three years ago, Eddie would have gone up and dragged Richie away, hitting him with as many utterances of “Beep Beep Richie” possible in one breath. Probably threatening to shove Richie’s lost pencil up his ass if he didn’t cut it out. 

But it isn’t three years ago. It’s now, when Eddie can’t bring himself to talk to Richie. He’s tried. 

Oh, how he’s tried. 

Eddie Kaspbrak can practice in front of the mirror or write on his palm all he wants. He’ll never be able to start a conversation with Richie. By now, Richie isn’t a friend anymore. 

The rustling of the contents in the pencil napper’s backpack are audible all the way from Eddie’s desk. He yanks out a stubby pencil and cries out, “Here, take this one! Take this one and leave me the fuck alone! Are you happy now?” 

Richie seizes his prize and nods, “Yes, thank you. Tell your mom I said hi.” He struts back to his desk in triumph, holding up the tiny pencil up to eye level. A smile tugs at Eddie’s cheeks, and he involuntarily lets out a little snort.

He can’t help but find Richie’s pride in this pencil, which would be gobbled up by a pencil sharpener if inserted, pretty damn funny. Dare he even say, quite hilarious. In a strange, well, Richie sort of way. It makes him feel incredibly nostalgic. 

That’s when Eddie notices that Richie isn’t walking to his usual desk in the very back of the classroom. No, the bespectacled teen is making his way to the front row. Where the teacher could easily watch him. 

Eddie furrows his eyebrows. Is Richie looking for trouble?

“Hey, Eds?”

Eddie nearly jumps out of his seat. His eyes widen as he sees Richie’s own staring right back. 

Richie is looking for him. 

Eddie sinks further and further into his seat as Richie gets closer and closer. He’s been spending so much time attempting to approach Richie; he never thought in a million years that Richie would approach him. 

“Umm…hi…” Eddie mumbles back, twirling his pencil between his fingers. He wants to say more, to salvage that pathetic excuse for a greeting, but can’t think of anything. What is one supposed to say to a boy one hasn’t talked to for years? 

“Hi yourself! So, I’ve got something for you…” Richie drops his backpack and unzips it, pulling out a wad of pink fabric. He unfolds it, revealing a faded pink polo. “Ta-da!”

Well, he supposes that’s as good an icebreaker as any. 

“Thanks…” Eddie mutters. He takes the shirt from Richie and sloppily folds it up. He places the shirt on his lap and stares at it, trying to think of something, anything, to say. 

“Aww c’mon Eds, that’s all you’ve got for me? We haven’t talked in eons, gimmie something!”

Unfortunately, that is all he’s got for Richie. Eddie traces his finger across the collar of the pink polo, taking a discreet glance upwards. 

“Hmph, this is the thanks I get for returning your most prized possession? Your priceless shirt?” Richie crosses his arm and pouts, lifting his chin up.

Eddie gives Richie a slight smirk. His shoulders begin to relax slightly. 

With a small murmur, he finally responds, “I don’t think it’s priceless, Rich.” 

Richie curls his fingers into a circle and holds them up in front of his eye, fashioning a monocle. He pinches the shirt and puts on his best British accent, “Oh, but Sir, this shirt is made from the finest royal silks! A frock fit for the illustrious prince Edwardo, indeed.” He purses his lips and strokes an invisible moustache. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, biting back his impending grin. Richie really, really hasn’t changed. Not one bit. 

Eddie wants to tell Richie how much he missed him, how hearing his inaccurate British accent made him feel warm and fuzzy. What he is planning to tell him is that his British accent sounds nothing like a real one, probably likening it to a Scottish person on speed. 

But before he can say either, Mrs. Schmidt prods into the room with her usual scowl. Richie’s shoes squeak against the tile floor as he squeezes into the desk beside Eddie’s. Mrs. Schmidt bolts up at the squeaking, giving Richie the first of his many inevitable daily glares. 

Richie places his hands on his lap and pushes his shoulders back, “Top of the morning to you, Madame Schmidt.” He tips an invisible top hat. He seems to have not dropped his British accent just yet. 

Mrs. Schmidt sighs and rolls her eyes, but doesn’t bother with chastising him. Eddie certainly can’t blame her. He couldn’t think of a more thankless cause. 

As Mrs. Schmidt begins writing on the blackboard, Eddie turns to look out the window once again. But then, he feels a piece of paper hit his arm. He flicks his eyes over to Richie, who is grinning and bouncing in his seat. The raven haired teen frantically points to the tossed paper, mouthing “Open it.”

Eddie unfolds the paper, biting his lip. Richie’s notes were always the causes of Eddie’s few detention visits. Eddie swears he could still feel his ears ringing from his mother’s screams that followed. 

But, he can’t risk ignoring this note. For all he knows, it could be something important. Something about how much Richie missed him, how his life’s been going since their disconnect. 

‘Why was your shirt at the quarry? What were you doing there? Were you skinny dipping?!’

Or not. 

Eddie furrows his eyebrows as he stares at the messy handwriting. He can’t even begin to comprehend this note. Sure, it’s classic Richie. But that’s the problem. Richie is able to just fall back into their old dynamic so naturally. He seems to lack the same fear and awkwardness as Eddie. Is this not a big deal to Richie?

Is he not a big deal to Richie?

“You were! You totally were!” A voice whisper shouts, followed by a prolonged snicker. 

Eddie darts his head up from the note and looks over at Richie. His cheeks are bright red and his hands are over his mouth, trying to stop the giggles from escaping. 

“I wasn’t,” Eddie hisses. The petite boy shakes his head frantically and crumples the note. 

Richie, however, is adamant, “Like hell you weren’t! Come on, admit it. You were skinny dipping. Was your mom with you? Damn, that must’ve been traumatizing. Imagine all those exposed rolls of fat, looking like an expired prune…”

“Shut the fuck up Richie!” Eddie’s cheeks turn as red as Richie’s, but for a different reason, “I was not skinny dipping!”

“Will I find your pants at the quarry too? And your tighty-whities? I’m gonna go back and look for them!” Richie begins to lose the battle against his giggles, letting a few escape. 

Eddie takes the biggest breath he can, his whole face resembling the polo Richie returned, “For the last time, shut-” 

“Mr. Kaspbrak, can you please repeat what I just said?” Mrs. Schmidt’s piercing voice penetrates through Eddie’s whisper. 

Eddie gulps and shakes his head. He could absolutely not repeat what Mrs. Schmidt said. He didn’t even know what was going on in class, outside of Richie’s shenanigans. 

“Mr. Tozier, how about you?”

Richie parts his lips to speak. All the previously trapped giggles and snorts flood out of his mouth. His trashmouth. Eddie still hates Richie’s trashmouth. 

As Eddie stares down at his desk and Richie grips onto his, Mrs. Schmidt scoffs and taps the blackboard with her long, french-manicured fingernail. The words “End of year project” are written in large, capital letters. 

“Oh, oh, oh! You were talking about the end of year project!” Richie exclaims. “There we go! Where’s my A-plus?”

Letting out a sigh that only an exhausted high school teacher with three years left until retirement can produce, Mrs. Schmidtt responds, “Yes Richard, I was talking about the end of year project. Would anyone like to explain the project to our friend Richard over here?”

A hand shoots up from the second row of desks. “Thank you Barbara, please explain the project.”

Eddie whips his head back to look at Barbara. He doesn’t know her very well, but he does see her name on the top of the honor roll list at the end of every quarter. He likes to check it, knowing that his own name won’t be on there, but wondering if Richie’s will be. 

Barbara adjusts the collar of her blouse, “Well, we will be doing an oral report about a famous scientist, which Mrs. Schmidt will assign us. The presentation must be at least five minutes long, not a second less. We must adhere to all the report requirements and deadlines outlined on the syllabus, which will be handed out at the end of class.”

Mrs. Schmidt gives Barbara a nod of approval, which Eddie would refer to as the teacher’s pet nod. “Thank you very much, Barbara.”

“No problem, Mrs. Schmidt.” Barbara turns her nose up and gives Richie a condescending smirk, as if to prove her superior intelligence. Eddie glares at her in disagreement. Richie is much smarter than Barbara. He’s probably smarter than all the kids who can stay on the honor roll every quarter. Eddie will stand by this belief, even if he’s the only one who holds it. 

Mrs. Schmidt interrupts Eddie’s thoughts by continuing, “You will be paired up for this project. I will assign the project partners. And since you two…” She alternates between pointing her fingernail at Richie and Eddie, “…seem to love each other oh-so much, you will be working on this project and staying after class together.” 

The rest of the class, particularly the boys, begin to snicker a little. They all silence at the tapping of Mrs. Schmidt’s fingernail, but not before the boy sitting next to Richie leans across his desk to whisper shout, “When ya’ gonna get married, faggots?” 

Eddie watches Richie give the boy a subtle kick under the desk. A small shiver runs up Eddie’s spine. Richie’s reaction seems like it reflects nothing more than petty annoyance. But Eddie swears that for a split second between the comment and the kick, he saw Richie’s pupils dilate and his lips quiver. 

As Mrs. Schmidt assigns the rest of the partners and passes out the syllabi, that’s all Eddie can think about. Richie Tozier, the insult connoisseur, gave the same reaction to an insult that he gave to Pennywise. Did Richie change significantly after all?

The bell snaps Eddie away from his thoughts. The rest of the class whoops and shuffles out of their desks, stampeding through the classroom door. 

Eddie stays in his seat, looking expectantly at Mrs. Schmidt. The elderly woman summons the two boys to her desk, where she sits and taps her nails against the table. Eddie stands up and shuffles to her desk, with Richie on his heels. 

Mrs. Schmidt takes a deep breath, then says, “Boys, I am very concerned about your grades in the class. For now, you are both on track to failing the class, and having to repeat it over the summer.”

Eddie’s breath hitches. He knows he isn’t doing well in this class. Science has never been his strong suit. And his mom banning him from participating directly in the labs due to his health problems certainly doesn’t help matters. 

But failing the class? To the point of possibly needing to take summer school? Eddie is sure his ears won’t survive his mom’s wrath at the news. 

Next to him, Eddie can tell Richie isn’t too happy with the news either, “But Mrs. Schmidt, I’ve been getting As and Bs on everything this year! How am I failing?” 

Mrs. Schmidt shakes her head, “On all your projects and homework, yes, you are getting stellar grades. But on your class participation and behavior, not so much.” 

Richie mutters something under his breath. Eddie can’t hear all of it, but he does pick up on the words “class participation,” “bullshit,” and “Mrs. Shit,” so he gets the picture. As much as he wants to feel sympathy for Richie, Eddie can’t help but sigh. For years, he could never understand why Richie opens his trashmouth in class. He’s not sure he’ll ever understand. 

Luckily for both of them, the lid remains on the trashmouth throughout their meeting with Mrs. Schmidt. The meeting isn’t too long, as Mrs. Schmidt seems about as eager to leave as the pair. She gives them a lecture on how they need to earn an exceptional grade on the project, assigns them Sigmund Freud as their topic, then departs with her high heels clicking at every step. 

As the boys leave the classroom, Eddie bites his lip and whispers to Richie, “Hey, Rich, can I ask you a question?”

“Oh Hunny-Bunny, you can ask me whatey-vah you want!” Richie responds in yet another goofy voice. Eddie figures he’s trying to imitate a Southern lady’s accent, which is mercifully better than the British accent attempt. 

Eddie looks down at his worn-out sneakers. He has many questions for Richie, more than he can count. But this one is especially haunting him. 

Taking a deep breath, he murmurs, “Umm…you seemed kinda upset when that kid insulted us…when he asked us when we’re gonna get married and stuff. Why?”

Richie scoffs, “I wasn’t upset; I understood. He’s just upset that I’m marrying his mother, and he’s going through denial. Don’t you worry Eds, he’ll adjust soon. It’s not easy for children to accept…”

“You were upset.” Eddie insists. “And don’t call me Eds.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie drawls in response. 

“That’s not much better,” Eddie says plainly. He bites his lip to hide the grin threatening to form; Richie still remembers the nicknames he had for Eddie. And Eddie still remembers not hating the nicknames, just hating the idea of telling Richie otherwise. 

“Damn, tough crowd. Oh well, I guess I’ll stop. If you confess to your skinny dipping,” Richie smirks, crossing his arms. 

Eddie gasps, “Oh my fucking god, Richie! For the last time, I was not skinny dipping!” 

“Then why did you leave your shirt at the quarry, huh?” Richie retorts. 

Eddie’s stomach drops. His mind wanders back to why the shirt was at the quarry in the first place. 

“None of your business,” Eddie mumbles. 

“Ha! So you were skinny dipping! I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Richie whoops in celebration. 

This time, Eddie doesn’t protest. He’d much rather Richie believe he went skinny dipping than know the actual reason. 

“Alright Eds, it’s been nice catching up, but I’ve gotta go! Detention needs me!” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. Of course Richie got detention. He could probably count it as an extracurricular activity. Then, Eddie remembers that Richie never answered his question. Before he can ask again, Richie is gone. Gone from his life as quickly as he reentered it. 

The petite boy reaches into his fanny pack and pulls out a bottle of medicine. He’s supposed to take a quick dosage after school. After dry swallowing the pills, Eddie trudges along to the exit.

Richie will never answer Eddie’s questions. And Eddie will never answer Richie’s. They’ll just get the project done, and things will go back to normal, Eddie concludes.

Eddie walks down the narrow sidewalk to get back home. He walks as slowly as he possibly can. It’s a tedious, mind-numbing process to say the least. 

But Eddie promised he would never run again.


	3. Meatloaf a la Mode

“How was your day?”

Eddie’s eyes dart up from his dinner plate, “Hmm?” 

“How was your day, Eddie Bear?”

Biting back a sigh, Eddie responds to his mother with the most monotone “Good” he can muster. He looks back down at his plate and picks up his fork, tapping it against the ceramic. His taps are tender and gentle, producing little clinking sounds. Eddie can’t help but smile slightly at the little noises. Little noises are quite rare in his house; he treasures their few appearances. 

Sonia Kaspbrak’s gravelly rasp drowns out Eddie’s little noises, “That’s it? Eddie, please, I don’t see you all day! I wanna hear from my son!”

Back to the status quo, Eddie thinks, putting down his fork. He looks back up at his mom and tries to retain his smile. 

“Not much happened today,” Eddie murmurs. “I don’t have much to talk about. We finished reading Othello in English class, so I guess that’s something.” 

There, he said something. Eddie gingerly curls his fingers around his fork, ready to clink it against his plate once again. 

“Oh, Othello! Isn’t that a Shakesphere play? What’s it about?” Sonia asks, resting her chin on her hands. An eyebrow raises, as if she is waiting for Eddie to say something specific about the play. Something scandalous, something inappropriate that her little Eddie Bear shouldn’t have read. Eddie swallows a sigh of pure dread. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to think of a Sonia-friendly explanation for a play ending in a murder-suicide. “Umm, well, it’s about a moor...named Othello, hence the title...and...”

“Eddie! Oh my goodness!”

Eddie’s breath hitches. He slips his hands under the table to hide their trembles. What did he say wrong? He couldn’t have said a single concerning word; he’d practiced each one in his head. He always does. 

“You haven’t put a single morsel of food on your plate! Are you not hungry? You’re always hungry at dinnertime! Oh my, Eddie Bear, are you feeling okay? Is your stomach hurting? I’ve heard there’s a stomach bug going around your school! And with your immune system...oh my goodness, Eddie, oh my goodness…” 

Eddie parts his lips, setting his baited breath free. Normally, he gets quite annoyed whenever his mother interrupts him. Sonia would demand to hear about Eddie, only to interrupt with her roaring ramblings. Now, Eddie is too relieved to focus on the irritating paradox. 

A terrified Sonia isn’t much quieter than an angry Sonia, but the former can be silenced if Eddie plays his cards right. Over the years, Eddie has accumulated all the cards he needs to prevent the former from becoming the latter. 

“Mommy, it’s okay, my stomach feels completely fine! I was just too busy talking, so I forgot to serve myself. Lemme help myself to some…”

Look down. Study the food. What is it? With his mother’s cooking, everything looks the same. It’s brown, with a grainy, flakey texture. When in doubt, go with your gut. 

“Meatloaf!” He picks up the knife, sinking it into the dense slab of meat. Each and every swipe of the knife is slow, calculated. 

“Eddie! My goodness, Baby, be careful! That’s a sharp knife! You could cut yourself!”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, determined to hold back any semblance of vexation. He isn’t sure if being any more careful is possible, but he must find a way. He cuts the meatloaf even slower. At this pace, he’ll probably be cutting away until tomorrow’s dinner. 

Time to reassure her, “I’m being as careful as I can be, Mom, I’m not gonna cut myself.” 

“No! Eddie, your fingers are too close to the blade! Oh, Honey, you’re gonna hurt yourself...here, give me the knife.”

Eddie looks up from his task to catch a glance at his mom’s face. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is agape. Her hand desperately reaches for the knife. Eddie places it in his mother’s hand. Sonia cuts Eddie a large chunk of meatloaf, twice the size of what’s needed to ease his hunger. 

He looks down forlornly at his previously crisp plate, now being coating with the brownish liquid seeping from his mother’s cooking. There’s no more room for Eddie to tap his fork against it. 

Not that Eddie is willing to complain. If that’s what it takes to soothe his mother, so be it. 

“Eat up, Buttercup! It’s good for you, it has plenty of vitamins and nutrients that your body lacks.”

“I will. Thanks, Mommy.” Eddie picks up the smaller, duller knife placed beside his plate and slices into the meatloaf. It’s like slicing a block of wood, but Eddie doesn’t even bother asking for a sharper utensil. Instead, he swipes and picks at it until a digestible piece finally flakes off. 

Just the thought of eating this one chunk is enough to make Eddie’s stomach churn. Let alone having to eat everything on his plate to convince his mother he hasn’t been bit by the stomach bug. He knows he should be used to his mother’s cooking by now, but she always seems to find new health-improving recipes to try. If he knew the source of all these recipes, Eddie would’ve secretly destroyed it long ago. 

“Did you take all your medicine today?”

Eddie puts his fork down slowly to avoid suspicion, but he silently thanks every possible religious figure for the blessing he’s been given. A chance to stall. 

“Yes, Mommy.” He nods dutifully. 

“Are you sure, Eddie Bear? Even the correct lunchtime dosage? We doubled that just last week, it’s quite easy to forget.”

“Yeah. I took both the HydrOx pills. Right at noon, when my timer beeped,” Eddie replies. He makes sure to include every single aspect of the procedure, to ease any fears or doubts his mother could possibly have. 

Thankfully, his mother replies with a single nod, “Excellent. I was just making sure, I know how you are with forgetting.” 

Eddie can’t help but frown slightly at this statement. How he is with forgetting is null; he always remembers to take every single pill. Eddie never forgets, almost to a fault. There are so many things that he’d love to forget, that his mother would love for him to forget. 

At least, that’s what Eddie thinks. 

Now that his mother isn’t talking to him, Eddie realizes that he must now eat the meatloaf. He shouldn’t delay the inevitable; he’ll be chained to that chair until every last morsel is gone, whether his taste buds like it or not. 

Gradually, Eddie lifts the fork to his mouth and slips the bite between his lips. He tries his best to not let it touch his tongue, but a little piece brushes against it before being mercifully swallowed. 

Eddie sucks in his cheeks and takes a deep breath. He never thought meatloaf could be chalky in taste as well as texture. He had never tasted chalk. In fact, he’d only touched it once before his mother pulled it away insisting that the dust could enter his nasal cavities, killing him with a single breath. But he’s sure that if he ever went up to a blackboard at school and ingested the chalk sitting on the rim, the taste would resemble that of the necessary nutrients sitting in front of him. 

Yet, Eddie’s tortured mouth is curled into a smile. If he did otherwise, he knows he’d receive a health-conscious ramble, or a rant on his lack of gratitude. And sure as hell doesn’t want to experience either. 

He forces bite after bite into his mouth, keeping his smile throughout. His teeth clench around the food, keeping as much of it away from his taste buds as possible. Eddie is so focused on keeping his illusion of pleasure whilst sparring the pain, he doesn’t notice his mother ask him a question. 

“Eddieeeeeee!”

Frantically slamming his fork down, Eddie looks back at his mom, “Oh, sorry Mom! What were you saying?”

“I was just asking how your grades are! Is your science grade getting any better? I’ve been losing sleep over that, Eddie Bear, you know how important it is for your mommy to get sleep.”

Eddie winces, a small hiss escaping through his teeth. He looks back down at his plate before giving the answer, “Umm, well, I’m struggling with it a bit. It’s not very good…”

Under the table, Eddie’s foot involuntary tremors. He firmly holds it against the floor to stop the movements. As scary as telling the truth is, Eddie knows better than to lie to his mom. He’s learned to pick and choose his battles when it comes to this; Eddie is already hiding too much. 

“...But it’s going to get better! Mrs. Schmidt assigned the end of year project, and if I do it well my grade’s gonna go back up,” Eddie quickly adds, desperate to placate his mother. 

Unfortunately, his luck seems to run out, “So your whole grade hinges on a project! A single project! Oh my, I can’t imagine the stress that must induce! And stress worsens your asthma, my goodness Eddie this is dreadful! Dreadful and unfair! Did your teacher not even begin to consider your medical needs?”

“Mom! Mom please!” Eddie practically jumps out of his chair. “Don’t worry, it’s an easy project! I can handle it!” 

His vocal cords strain to speak over Sonia. Eddie is willing to damage his vocal cords permanently to prevent his mother’s usual response: an angry call to his school. He can’t even begin to count the number of teachers who still cower before him or shoot him dirty looks as a result of Sonia’s interventions. 

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Sonia lunches forward in her chair and places her hands on the table, “How about you sit down and describe this apparently easy little project for me?”

Eddie lowers himself back down to his chair, placing his hands atop his lap. He takes the largest, longest inhale, followed by an equally prolonged exhale. Eddie knows that if he wants to make it out of this unscathed, he must make this sound like the easiest little project ever assigned. 

“There’s not much to it. We just have to research a scientist and do a five minute presentation.”

Sonia shakes her head, “Five minutes is quite the length for a school presentation. Does your teacher really expect for you to complete it well, all whilst knowing that your grade depends on those five minutes! That’s quite a lot of pressure, Eddie, I’m really concerned. After dinner, I think I’ll…”

“No! Mom!” Eddie cries out, outstretching his arms in a vapid attempt to get her to stay. “Please, it’s not that bad! I won’t even have to do it alone, it’s a partner project! I only have to do half the work, it’s barely anything!”

“A partner project, hmm? Who did that teacher of yours put you at the mercy of?”

Eddie’s hands fall to the table, slamming it harshly. The pain throbs throughout Eddie’s fingers, palms, and wrists, but it’s far from his largest concern at the moment. 

Sonia Kaspbrak hates many, many things, she’s made no effort to deny the fact. Eddie can’t really distinguish what his mother hates the most, but Richie Trashmouth Tozier is a pretty damn good contender. 

The Kindergartener with the scraped up knees and taped up glasses. The middle schooler with dirty clothes and a mouth to match. Now, the high schooler with daily detention visits. 

The antithesis to everything Sonia stands for. Which is quite dangerous, considering he has a voice that could drown hers out. 

“Eddie! Who is your project partner!”

With a palpitating heart and a quivering voice, Eddie forces himself to whisper, “Richie Tozier.”

Sonia doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she just sits in her chair, staring off into space. Eddie reads this as a positive sign, until he notices her face turning redder and redder and her body beginning to shake. He lifts his hands up to his ears, bracing himself for the unfortunate inevitable. 

“WHAAAAAAAAT!”

The wooden chair is kicked to the floor. The glass pitcher is knocked off the table and shattered, spilling water all over the granite tiles. Sonia, who struggles to walk without a clunk in every step, dashes off to landline. She slams her chubby fingers against the numbers, breathing heavily with each little dialing sound. 

Eddie stays put, averting his eyes from his mother. If he even gets up from the chair, much less goes to stop her, he will be the wrath’s new target. He chokes down the meatloaf, wanting to do something, anything, to save himself. 

How could he be stupid enough to mention the partnering element? Then again, Eddie thinks, perhaps this is for the best, to speed up the inevitable. His mother always finds everything out eventually. Keeping secrets from her is a near impossibility. The only secrets he’s managed to keep from her are his encounters with It years ago, his explanation as to why his durable bookbag is falling at the seams, and his longing for the Losers Club. 

His longing for the very boy Sonia is screaming into the phone about. 

“HOW DARE YOU! MY SON HAS A HORRID MEDICAL CONDITION, AND YOU JUST WANT TO TRIGGER IT! YOU’RE ALL SADISTS, ALL OF YOU! AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THAT BOY, I’VE JUST MANAGED TO GET EDDIE AWAY FROM HIS INFLUENCE!”

Eddie purses his lips at the last sentence. Oh, if only his mother knew how much a lie that is. He has no idea how he’s managed to conceal from this lie. 

Sure, Eddie’s never interacted with Richie for years until today. But that’s never stopped him from checking the honor roll for his name, going to the school drama productions solely to watch him, looking at their old photos with tears brimming his eyes. 

It hasn’t even stopped him from thinking about what Richie would say if he was with him. As he stares down at the meatloaf, he wonders what Richie’s reaction would look like. He’d probably shriek in horror, demanding for the food to be identified. Eddie would shush him and tell him it’s a piece of meatloaf. Then, Richie would compare the meatloaf with various items. Oh, he’d make quite the interesting comparisons. To vomit, elephant shit, and the magnum opus, Eddie’s mom’s vagina after Richie’s done with her. Following a groan from Eddie, a much-deserved groan indeed, Richie would put on a crude fancy accent and say something like, “Ah, Edward, try our meatloaf a la mode!”

And giving up, Eddie would laugh. 

Eddie laughs. 

He laughs as he finishes the rest of the meatloaf, no longer cringing with every bite. He laughs loudly enough to drown out the rest of his mother’s call. For once, his smile at the dinner table is thoroughly genuine. 

The smile is wiped off his face as soon as he hears approaching stomps. He keeps his eyes trained on the table, afraid to look into his mother’s. When the stomps end, a deep sigh follows. There is a pregnant pause, which makes Eddie grow antsy. 

After squirming in his chair for a bit, he asks, “Mommy? How was the call?”

The pause continues, but Sonia eventually grunts and says, “This is bullshit, that school is bullshit.”

Eddie’s entire body relaxes within seconds. He has heard enough from his mom to know that he is Richie’s project partner indefinitely. And for once in his sixteen years of life, Eddie is fine with his mom being mad. 

With a huff, Sonia picks up Eddie’s plate, “Looks like someone liked the meatloaf,” she grumbles. 

Grateful for the subject change, Eddie responds, “Thanks for making it for me.” 

“You’re very welcome, Eddie Bear. I’ve had so much fun trying new recipes.”

Suddenly, it dawns on Eddie. He’s never really asked where the recipes come from. There’s no reason for him not to; it’s a neutral question. 

“That’s cool. Where are you finding these recipes? Did you get a new cookbook or something?”

“Oh Honey no, nothing of that sort! I invented those recipes myself, to satisfy your dietary needs!”

Of course. Of course she invented them. 

The only way for Eddie to escape his mother’s food would be to escape his mother. 

But he refuses to let his mind wander there again. 

As his mom pushes the syringe into his bicep tendon, Eddie holds her hand. He winces, which prompts Sonia to rub the back of Eddie’s hand with her thumb. Eddie immediately calms at the gesture, leaning into his mother’s touch. 

“He used to do that too.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“Oh, sorry Baby, I was thinking out loud.” Sonia lets out a throaty chuckle, “Your father. Whenever he had to get shots, I would hold and rub his hand, and he would immediately calm down.”

Eddie looks down at his mom’s hand, “He did?”

“Yes, every time. Even near the end of his life, when the shots got more frequent and painful. He’d always calm down when I rubbed his hand with my thumb. Every time, Eddie. Every single time.”

Eddie looks up from his mother’s hand to his eyes, discovering that they are sparkling with tears. He blinks rapidly to hold back his own. 

“You’re so much like him, Eddie. When I see you, I see him. And...wow...sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s...well...gone.” 

Putting the syringe down, Sonia takes Eddie’s other hand into her own and looks him in the eyes, “I know you think I’m overbearing. And I understand. Trust me, I completely understand. But please, also understand, I do this because I love you. I love you so much. And there’s nothing more painful than loving someone who’s gone.”

By now, Eddie’s thin slivers of tears thicken, and are coupled with chokes and hiccups. He squeezes both of his mother’s hands. He knows this all too well. And no one would ever be able to understand this better than the two of them. 

“Can you tell me something else about him? Please?” Eddie whispers, reaching his hand up to wipe away his tears. 

Following a prolonged blink, Sonia murmurs, “Your father was a good man. He was a very good man, Eddie. And you’re a very good boy.” 

She pulls Eddie into a hug, which Eddie immediately melts into. With their arms around each other, caressing one another, Eddie and Sonia fall to the floor in a heap of sobs. 

“Oh Eddie...promise you’ll always be a good boy?”

Eddie doesn’t even need to think before giving his answer. Any of his earlier thoughts are a distant memory. 

“Yes, Mommy. I promise.”


	4. Complex Complexes

Eddie did not think he would see Richie again today. 

The only time Eddie sees Richie is in Science class, and he only has that class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Eddie could grace Richie’s presence on this fine Tuesday by meeting him at lunch. But in this case, the “could” is more theoretical than plausible. 

So today, Eddie exits the school during dismissal by himself. A familiar, yet disappointing, return to the status quo. His flimsy backpack begins to slide off his shoulders. Before Eddie can hoist it back up, a pair of hands grasp his shoulders and do the job for him. 

“Eds! What’s up!”

Eddie shrieks and jumps, instinctively placing a hand on his fanny pack. A few students whip their heads around to see the cause of the noise, but mercifully turn their attention away shortly after.

At first, Eddie just stands there in wide-eyed shock. He recognizes the voice, there’s no way he couldn’t, but it takes the pivot of his feet, visually revealing the bespectacled source, to finally prompt his reaction. 

“Richie! What the fuck was that? You almost gave me an asthma attack!” 

His hand remains on the fanny pack, toying with the metal zipper. 

Richie just tilts his head and laughs in response, his glasses drooping to the tip of his nose, “Aww c’mon Eds, lighten up! At this rate, everything’s gonna give you an asthma attack!”

“Not everything, just you,” Eddie responds. He makes a big show of rolling his eyes as far back as he can, “And don’t call me Eds.”

“Alright, alright, I promise I won’t give you the breezy wheezies. But I ain’t making you any more promises, Eds.”

Eddie groans, biting his lip. He rolls his eyes again, which is pretty effective in hiding their shimmers after Richie’s statement. Once again, Eddie is reminded of something he has never ceased to experience in Richie’s presence. 

The puzzling paradoxes. 

His booming voice, his sudden movements, his constant, merciless teasing, are not qualities that Eddie can say he adores. At least, in general. From other people. If anyone else behaved this way towards Eddie, he doesn’t doubt that he would roll his eyes and walk away. With Richie, Eddie rolls his eyes. But he doesn’t walk away. 

In fact, when Richie asks him, “Anyways, how about we go hit up the library? Y’know, to go learn something about that ol’ fart Sigmund,” Eddie immediately agrees with an eager, frantic nod. 

Then, reality sets in, “Wait, I don’t think I can, my mom’s gonna get worried.” His face darkens as the words are said.

Richie nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his elbow, “Don’t worry ‘bout that! We can call our moms on the library phone so they don’t think we were kidnapped or some shit. There, problem solved.”

Eddie bites his lip and looks down at his worn-out Goodwill sneakers, shuffling his feet, “I dunno…”

“Eddie, come on, just come to the library with me! Pleeease? It’s gonna be soooo boring without you!” Richie pleads with a pout. 

Eddie bites his lip harder to hide an impending smile. As if Richie asking him to come along wasn’t good enough, he just said that the visit would be boring without Eddie. Like, Richie would have more fun at the library if Eddie is there. He remembers the previous night, thinking that eating his mother’s meatloaf would be fun if Richie was there. 

It sure wasn’t the first time Eddie thought that. He wonders if this statement from Richie means that he, too, has thought this throughout the years. 

Suddenly, Richie drops to his knees. His glasses fall off his face and onto the cerulean floor tile beside him. They don’t break, as those thick coke-bottle glasses were purchased specifically to survive Richie’s shenanigans. 

He claps his hands together and shuffles closer to Eddie on his knees, “Oh please, Eddie, allow your holy spirit to hear my prayer! Please bless me with your company at the Derry Public Library, to spare my soul and spirit from the sinful boredom of researching this stone age fuckwad on my own!”

Or maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it’s just Richie’s trashmouth spewing out random crap, with no meaning other than it’s supposed hilarity. That seems to be much more fitting, much more predictable, for Richie Tozier. 

Eddie, however, can’t help but hang on to a sliver of hope. After all, Richie has never been one to fall into the realm of predictability. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll go with you! Now get up, hallway floors are germy as fuck. Have you seen all the dirty shoes that touch these floors all day? I’ll bet that they get cleaned, like, once a week at best.”

Richie stands up, dusting off his pants, “Okay, Mom, I’m up!”

Mom. What is Eddie’s mom going to say about his spontaneous library trip? Is Eddie making a catastrophic mistake? Probably. 

But then, a phrase replays in Eddie’s mind. A single, simple sentence.

‘It’s gonna be soooo boring without you!’

So, erased are the worries about his mother. If there’s one thing that can trump worries in Eddie’s mind, it’s curiosity. And Richie never seems to do anything besides pique Eddie’s curiosity. 

Well, that and make statements like, “So, what kind of a dumbass name is Sigmund anyways?”

Eddie walks off the school property and onto the sidewalk at Richie’s side, doing his best to ignore that they are taking the path opposite the one leading to his house, “I dunno, what’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it? Eds, c’mon, it’s the weirdest fucking name! Have you ever met anyone named Sigmund?”

Eddie shakes his head, “No…”

“Me either! Why? Because it’s the weirdest fucking name! I mean, what kind of a parent holds their newborn baby in their arms, their little miracle, bundle of joy, whatever…” Richie cradles an invisible baby, “...and says, ‘You know what, let’s name the little fucker Sigmund!’”

Eddie lets out a snort, no longer able to hold back his smile. His smile stretches from ear to ear, and parts ever so slightly to laugh. 

“You’ve got a point, it kinda sounds like some sort of off-brand medicine.”

Richie nudges Eddie, “Yeah! It sounds like something you’d carry in your little crotch purse!”

And with that, Eddie’s smile curls down, his laughter replaced with a sigh. 

He rubs his arm where he was nudged, “It’s not a crotch purse, Richie, it’s a fanny pack.” 

“How is ‘fanny pack’ any better than ‘crotch purse’? I’m pretty sure either one would make a bully wanna punch you. Hell, I kinda wanna punch you for defending the honor of the term ‘fanny pack.'”

Eddie crosses his arm and pouts, trying his best to exhibit nothing but pure irritation, “Alright then, punch me! If you wanna punch me so bad, go ahead and do it!”

Eddie doesn’t understand why he needs to try so hard. He shouldn’t have to try at all. He does think Richie is annoying. Yet, he has to force himself to genuinely be annoyed at Richie. Which of course begs the question of why he pretends in the first place. As much as Eddie wants to answer these questions, he can’t for the life of him. He never could. 

His ruminating is sharply halted by a light punch to the shoulder.

Eddie flinches in surprise, but otherwise doesn’t react. The punch was more like a little tap or nudge, if anything. “That didn’t hurt.”

“It wasn’t supposed to, Eds, I didn’t wanna give you an asthma attack. I’m a man of my word.”

“Gee thanks,” Eddie replies with a roll of his eyes, “I feel so much better now.”

By then, the boys have finally arrived at the library. They stand before the massive, red brick building. Eddie has always thought that the library looks like some sort of regal palace, with its impressive size and clock tower. With Richie, though, he knows that visiting it won’t be a regal experience. 

“Race ya’ in!” Richie runs towards the library doors, holding onto the frames of his glasses. 

Eddie, however, remains in place. His feet stay planted on the sidewalk, watching Richie run. Richie is a fast runner, but Eddie knows he’s faster. He could definitely beat him in this race. As the wind blows through Richie’s hair, almost as if it's running with him, Eddie begins to squirm more and more. He can practically hear himself begging, pleading to run. Just one stride, one movement. 

Yet, Eddie stays put with a hand on his fanny pack. 

“Eds, come on! Did you really make me run all the way here by myself,” Richie whines, trudging back to Eddie, “You gonna race me this time?”

Eddie shakes his head, gripping the pack with all his might, “I can’t…”

“Sure you can! You’re, like, the fastest runner ever! Put those Olympic legs to work, eh?”

Eddie shakes his head more frantically, his lip beginning to quiver, “No, Richie, I can’t. I’m gonna get an asthma attack.”

“An asthma attack? From running to the door?”

“Yes, from running to the fucking door,” Eddie hisses between his teeth. 

He purses his lips as soon as the words come out, realizing they sounded much angrier than intended. Eddie couldn’t help it. He knows he’s not supposed to run; he promised himself he would never run again. And here Richie is, encouraging him to engage in the forbidden act. 

“Geez, fine. If you wanna be a party pooper, then I guess we can take a nice, leisurely walk to the library door instead.” Richie frowns, but doesn’t seem too bothered, much to Eddie’s relief. 

One leisurely walk later, Richie leads Eddie to the library phone. The phone must have been at white at some point, Eddie presumes, but is now coated in a yellowish-beige tint. Eddie’s face scrunches as he imagines how many hands must have touched that phone to turn it that color. 

“Umm, Richie, could you put the number in for me,” Eddie murmurs, cringing at the thought of adding to that fingerprint gallery. 

“Sure, Eds,” Richie chirps. He wraps his fist around the phone and yanks it off the base. 

Before Eddie can start dictating his number, Richie’s index finger dances across the dial pad with a soft hum. As the phone rings, Richie asks Eddie, “You need me to hold it for ya?”

Eddie nods blankly, still trying to process the fact that Richie remembers his home phone number. Just as he could dial Richie’s if necessary. 

Richie lifts the phone to Eddie’s ear, and a gruff “Kaspbrak residence, this is Sonia speaking” blares through the speaker. 

“Hi Mommy, this is Eddie.”

Eddie’s surprised the librarian isn’t coming to shush them at the volume of Richie’s snort. Oh, of course he just had to make the fatal mistake of calling his mom “Mommy.” 

“Eddie! My goodness, I was just wondering why you hadn’t come home yet! Are you okay? Where even are you? Are you using a public phone? Don’t tell me you’re using a pay phone! You don’t know who’s touched that! I heard a story about someone who got AIDS from using a pay phone! Please, Eddie…”

“MOM!” Eddie shouts, finally catching the attention of a librarian. She shushes him, and Richie does as well. The brunette can’t help but roll his eyes at the sheer hypocrisy. 

“Mom, I’m okay, I promise. I’m not using a pay phone, I’m at the library. Using their phone. I’m just going to do some research for school. I’ll be back after.”

“Oh Eddie-Bear, why must you make your poor mommy worry so! You could’ve just come home to study, I’d go get books for you!”

“This is easier Mom, I promise I’ll stay safe. I’m just gonna study, then go home for dinner. See? Nice and safe.”

But it isn’t nice and safe enough for Sonia. She continues to demand an answer as to why Eddie is making her worry, and why he is putting himself in so much danger. All of Eddie’s reassurances seem to fall upon deaf ears, keeping the two in an endless spiral. Eddie can feel his stomach flipping and flopping about with each passing second, and Richie’s frequent declarations of his arm being tired sure don’t help matters. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Sonia relents and grants Eddie the freedom to be at the library, as long as he makes it home by seven o’clock. Eddie agrees, sighing with relief as Richie hangs the phone up. 

“Damn Eds, your mom talks a hell of a lot. Did she say anything about me?”

Oh, she sure as hell had a lot to say about Richie alright. But not during this call. And besides, Eddie knows exactly what Richie means by that statement. 

So he responds with a sharp “Shut up Richie, it’s your turn to call.”

Richie does just that. He dials his own number and holds the phone pressed against his ear. 

“Hey, Mom. I’m just gonna hang out at the library for a few hours, doing some school work. Yeah, I’ll be home by dinner. Cool, see you soon.”

And with that, Richie slams the phone back into the base, “Alright, that’s all settled. Time to learn about our ol’ pal Sigmund.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums, following Richie across the aisles of bookshelves. This action ends up being futile, as Richie doesn’t seem to have any semblance of a clue what he’s doing. 

“I don’t think there’s gonna be any books about Sigmund Freud in the Children’s Picture Book section.”

“Well pardon moi, Mr. Library Expert, would you care to point me in the direction of the Sigmund Freud books?” Richie places his hands on his hips and shoots Eddie a scowl. 

Eddie returns the scowl, “Well, they sure as hell aren’t in the Children’s Picture Books section! Do you think any kids are going up to their parents and asking for books about Freud?”

“Well, why the hell not!” Richie runs up to a shelf and pulls out a copy of Little Red Riding Hood. He puts on his highest, squeakiest voice possible, “Aww come on Mommy, I don’t wanna read ‘bout this Red Riding Hood bitch! Gimme Sigmund Freud! I want Sigmund!”

Eddie has to purse his lips with his teeth biting them down to keep himself from laughing. Little snorts and snickers still manage to escape, however. He’s sure he won’t be able to retain himself anymore. 

Then, Richie continues, “Little Red Riding Hood? More like Little Red Riding on my-”

“Beep beep Richie!” Eddie exclaims. His eyes widen as soon as he says it; it’s been years since the phrase has left his lips. 

To anyone else, this phrase would seem quite random, perhaps a little strange. But years ago, to the Losers Club, it was the temporary off-switch for Richie’s mouth. A simple way to tell him that he has gone too far, that he is no longer funny. Which of course works flawlessly, as Richie never seems to want to be anything but funny. 

Its effect seems to have remained, as Richie immediately slips the book back on the shelf and bunches his hands together. 

Unfortunately, its voluminous use has come with a price. A plump, scowling librarian totters into the aisle and crosses her arms, “You two are causing a major disruption. We have a policy on noise here, keep your volume down to a minimum.”

Eddie nods, feeling his cheeks burn up, “Sorry ma’am, we’re looking for books on Sigmund Freud. Can you please help us?”

The librarian continues to scowl and glare, but leads the boys through the biography and psychology sections of the library. She thrusts two books into each of their hands, “These should get you started. Any additional information you need will be in the psychology section. Now, please stay quiet.”

She leaves the boys with a relieved sigh, her polite work smile curling back up. 

“Fuck, these books are heavy," Richie grunts, "Let’s find somewhere to sit down, yeah?”

Eddie’s thinner, frailer arms couldn’t agree more. 

They find a vacant work table and plop the books down on it, taking seats right beside each other. Eddie drops his backpack under the table, right next to Richie’s sturdy Jansport pack. 

Richie unzips his backpack, and the sight nearly causes Eddie to fall back in his chair. 

Eddie never thought that the inside of a backpack could resemble a war zone. Papers are crumpled up into balls, accordions, and various other shapes. Broken, stubby pencils are strewn about like sprinkles atop a cupcake. But by far, the worst part is the plastic baggy containing a sandwich that probably wouldn’t be passing a HACCP inspection any time soon. Or ever, for that matter. 

“I can’t find the syllabus…” Richie grumbles as he yanks a pile of crumpled papers out and lays them on the table. 

“Well, how the hell can you find anything in that thing,” Eddie hisses. “It looks like tornado wreckage. Especially with that sandwich.”

“Calm down, the sandwich has only been there for a week. I think.”

“The ‘I think’ is pretty damn concerning, Rich.”

In a shocking turn of events, Richie is the one to roll his eyes, “Geez, you sound like Stanley. He’s always saying the same damn thing.”

Eddie’s heart stops. 

Stanley. 

Eddie hasn’t heard that name in years. He’s thought of it, whenever he passes by a synagogue or a unique bird, but never has it hit his ears. Until now, when Richie mentioned him. 

Richie mentioned him. In the present tense. 

Eddie opens his mouth, about to ask…

“But, if it makes you oh-so happy, I’ll throw it away.”

Richie snatches the disgusting sandwich and strides off to the trash bin. 

Eddie groans and rests his head on his hand. Now he’s left alone with the glaring question of whether Richie is keeping in touch with Stan. Eddie wouldn’t exactly be surprised if he does. Richie is far from the type of person to worry about approaching people. But, if he’s been spending time with Stan, then why didn’t he come to Eddie until now?

In an attempt to distract himself, Eddie glances over at the pile of papers Richie dropped on the table. On the top of the pile was a thick packet, the front cover titled with: “Singin’ in the Rain- Script.” Surrounded the title are pencil sketches of an umbrella and raindrops. The sketches are almost photorealistic, yet still in a particular style Eddie recognizes. 

Bill’s style. 

Eddie silently gasps as more realizations come to him. Even if Richie isn’t in touch with Stan, he certainly has to be in touch with Bill. How else would he have gotten Bill to draw all over his script? So he’s been spending time with Bill, and possibly Stan, but not Eddie. 

Before Eddie can think any further, he hears a loud whisper, “There, I have vanquished the evil sandwich!”

Then, the question spills out before Eddie can stop it, “Do you hang out with Bill and Stan?”

Richie slides into his chair and nods, “I do, why’d you ask?”

After making sure to think before he opens his mouth, Eddie finally answers with, “Well, I saw Bill’s drawings on your script. And you talked about Stan. It made me curious.”

“Ahh, okay,” Richie hums, seemingly satisfied with the answer, much to Eddie’s relief, “Yeah, I’m with them a lot. We eat lunch together, like, almost every day.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Eddie murmurs, attempting to maintain neutrality. 

“Yeah, it is. Except that they keep on asking me why I can’t shut the fuck up.” 

Richie’s face and tone darkens at the final statement. He pauses, then brightens up, “But hey, I’m Trashmouth Tozier for a reason, y’know!”

He laughs and gives Eddie a little nudge. Then, he quickly seizes his script and holds it up to Eddie’s face, “They’ve also been helping me get ready for the spring musical! I’m playing Cosmo! He’s one of the stars! Pretty cool, huh?”

Eddie nods with a small smile, “Wow, that is cool! Congrats!”

He tries his best to seem like he’s never heard this news before. Like he hasn’t checked the cast list for Richie’s name, then watched the movie to see who Cosmo was. 

“Thanks! I hope I don’t fuck it up!”

Eddie shakes his head with certainty, “You won’t. There’s no way you could. Cosmo’s pretty much the role you were born to play. He literally has a song called ‘Make ‘em Laugh.’” His mouth curls up into a mischievous smirk, “It would be your anthem, if it had a bunch of unfunny dick jokes.”

“Hey, my dick jokes are fucking hilarious! You just hate them cause you don’t have one.” Richie retorts, shifting through the pile of papers on the table, “Ah, here’s the syllabus. Now we just need some notecards. Where are my-”

Eddie cuts him off, “I’ll get them!” He knows that they’ll be here all night if Richie searches through his backpack for notecards. 

Once the notecards are slammed down on the table, the boys finally open up the books and study. Eddie flips through a biography and jots down some simple notes. The process is quite tedious and dull, but Eddie doesn’t feel like voicing this opinion. 

Richie, however, does, “Fuck, Eds, this is soooo boring!” He slumps down in his chair, “I’m gonna die of boredom here, save me!”

Eddie drops his pencil and sighs, “We’re studying, it’s not supposed to be fun. What do you have so far?”

He glances at Richie’s notecards. Two bullet points written in extremely sloppy handwriting, listing Freud’s name and birthday, followed by a drawing of male genitals. 

Eddie slams his head into his hands, “Richie, are you serious? How can you be bored when you haven’t done anything? You’ve just been drawing dicks!”

“I have not been drawing dicks, I’ve been drawing a dick. Singular,” Richie states, crossing his arms with a pout.

Eddie looks away from Richie. He groans and picks up his pencil, ready to take more notes. 

Then, he hears a small voice, “Hey, Eds, I’m sorry. I swear, I tried to read the book. It’s just...I couldn’t fucking focus. Like, whenever I read it, my brain would go all the way to Jupiter or something. I dunno, I guess I’m just stupid.” 

Eddie immediately softens at Richie’s words. He’s never heard the boy speak with so much disappointment in his voice. 

“You’re not stupid, Richie,” Eddie turns to face him once again.

“Aww shucks, Eds,” Richie dramatically sniffles and wipes a fake tear, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

Eddie gives Richie a nudge, offering him a smile, “Alright, how about we read the book together? I’ll make sure you focus.”

Richie nods eagerly, “Sounds like a plan! See, I knew you’d make this less boring!”

With a book opened on the table, the pair continues their studying. Eddie kicks Richie under the table whenever he gets distracted. He occasionally looks over at Richie’s notecards. Next to the notecard containing the crude drawing, there are several with very profound notes. Richie has even written some of his own views on Freud’s practices, which look akin to something from a college essay. Minus the sloppy handwriting, of course. 

Then, Eddie turns the page to a new section of the book: The Oedipus Complex. 

“HOLY FUCK! THIS DUDE LITERALLY THINKS THAT KIDS WANNA FUCK THEIR PARENTS!” 

Richie howls with laughter, his face already turning red. He holds his stomach and doubles over in his chair. 

Eddie kicks Richie under the table again, “Shush! You’re supposed to be quiet in the library!” 

“How am I supposed to be quiet! We’re literally reading about a guy who says kids wanna fuck their parents!”

“It doesn’t say that! It says…”

'The Oedipus Complex is Freud’s psychoanalytic theory that a child, during the early stages of life, experiences sexual attraction towards their opposite-sex parent.'

Eddie bites his lip and looks down at his lap. 

“Eds, this dude is fucking crazy! I don’t wanna fuck my mom! I wanna fuck YOUR mom! Here, gimmie that book! I wanna see if it says anything about wanting to fuck other people's moms! The Eddie’s Mom Complex!”

Eddie shuts the book and shoves it away, “No! We are not reading about this!”

“But we’ve gotta! The book said it’s one of his most well-known theories!”

“Fine. You’re not reading about this!”

Richie lunges for the book, “Come on Eds, it’s the only interesting thing about this guy I’ve read! I need to learn about how kids wanna fuck their parents!”

“That’s fucking disgusting! And you just want an excuse to make jokes about my mom,” Eddie grabs the books before Richie can. 

“No I don’t! Why would I make jokes about someone who’s so great in bed,” Richie wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Shut up! Just shut up, Richie!” Eddie exclaims. He hugs the book to his chest and glares at Richie. 

He wonders why he doesn’t hit Richie with the book. It’s a simple solution, perhaps even a permanent one. 

Eddie would no longer have to play keep-away with the book as Richie reaches for it, saying vulgar statement after vulgar statement. 

Richie may never tease Eddie again. Richie may never try to annoy Eddie again. 

And that, Eddie realizes, is exactly why he isn’t doing it. 

He remembers the years he’s spent apart from Richie, missing him. He missed the dirty jokes, the teasing, everything. All of the annoyance. 

As he continues to hold the book away from Richie and demands that he shuts up, Eddie knows that his actions are betraying his inner glee at getting to experience this again. Finally, he gets to free the goofy, playful side of himself he’s been taught to repress. A side which only seemed to be freed through his interactions with Richie. 

“Fuck, Richie, why are you being so fucking annoying?”

“That’s just the way I am, Eds, you know that!”

It’s true. Richie’s aspects of annoyance are aspects of his personality. And he shares them with Eddie, more than he does with anyone else. As much as Eddie hates to admit it, the thought of that does make him feel a little warm inside. 

“You’re still annoying!”

“And you love it! Admit it!”

Eddie does. He’d never admit it, because that’s part of the fun, which allows it to continue. 

But he does. 

“HEY!” The librarian shouts, stomping over to their table. 

Except maybe not now. 

***

“I can’t believe you got us kicked out of the library,” Eddie grumbles. He trudges along the sidewalk by Richie’s side, his arms folded across his chest. 

“Me? You were screaming too! It’s both of our faults, if anything,” Richie protests.

Eddie sighs in defeat. He can’t really argue with that.

“You’re right.”

“I always am.”

“Shut up. We still got kicked out”

“Yeah, but it’s not that bad! At least Baby Beluga over there let us check out the books. And we can come back, as long as we ‘behave in an orderly manner,’” Richie says, making air quotes with the last statement.

“So, we’re never coming back then,” Eddie responds with a smirk. 

“Hey! I can behave in an orderly manner! I am the king of orderly manners!”

“What a corrupt kingdom that must be,” Eddie snickers. 

Richie shoves Eddie, “Fuck you! I was going to invite you to my house for more studying, but I doubt you would want to visit the palace of a corrupt king!”

Eddie’s heart jumps upon hearing that. Richie actually invited him to his house. Sure, it’s to continue studying for school, but it’s an invitation nonetheless. He looks down at his watch. It’s only four-thirty. His mother isn’t expecting him home for two and a half more hours. Eddie can’t think of a more ideal, perfect opportunity. 

“Actually, I’m down to go to your house!”

“Really? But I thought I was incapable of behaving in an orderly manner,” Richie humphs. 

Eddie refuses to let this opportunity slip away, “Alright, I’m sorry! You are the king of orderly manners. All hail King Richie! There, you happy?”

Richie turns back to Eddie with a smirk, “Very much so.”

Eddie rolls his eyes for what feels like the billionth time of the day, “Good. So, am I coming or not?”

Richie’s smirk grows, “That’s what your mom said.”

After taking the deepest inhale and exhale he can muster, Eddie grumbles, “Richie fucking Tozier. Am I invited to your house or not?”

“Hey, how did you guess my middle name, you-”

“Beep beep Richie!” 

Richie pouts, “Fine. Yes, you are invited to my house.”

“I am accepting that invitation.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Eddie follows Richie to his house, feeling more good than he’s felt in a long time.


End file.
